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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113951">Detroit: Become God of the New World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilgoreOnTralfamadore/pseuds/KilgoreOnTralfamadore'>KilgoreOnTralfamadore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Death Note &amp; Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime &amp; Manga), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Androids, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Licking Things, Crossover, Hank Anderson Swears, Homicide, Murder, Mystery, Other, Police, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Work In Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:07:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,975</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilgoreOnTralfamadore/pseuds/KilgoreOnTralfamadore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The dust is just beginning to settle in Detroit after a successful, peaceful android revolution. Times are changing- humans and machines are finally beginning to realize their shared potential. </p><p>Until humans start dropping dead of heart attacks. This is the work of the mysterious "Kira," an unknown entity with an increasingly complex paradigm. </p><p>Connor and Hank take the case, trying to connect the dots as bodies start piling up and their investigation poses more questions than it answers. </p><p>Detroit: Become Human x Death Note crossover. Hope to make this one longer, with lots of characters from both series.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson &amp; Connor, Upgraded Connor | RK900 &amp; Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Detroit: Become God of the New World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! Thanks for clicking on my fic. I love these two fandoms dearly and I think they complement each other nicely. Like I said in the description, I envision this being a longer-term project, incorporating characters out of both canons. I plan to include everyone that I've listed in the character tags eventually. Please leave a comment letting me know what you think!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somewhere in Detroit, maybe in a cluttered and desolate alleyway, or maybe on a packed bus driving through downtown, someone wrote a name. A first name, then a last name, in raven-colored ink.  </p><p>Somewhere in Detroit, that man died.</p><hr/><p>“Connor! Wake up.”</p><p>The young android was, quite rudely, yanked out of stasis by his partner. Shaking his head as his LED flashed baby blue, Connor turned to the detective.</p><p>“What is it, Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor asked.</p><p>“We got a case,” Hank grumbled. “And for Christ’s sake, call me Hank.” Under his breath he added, <em>I’ve only known you for what, 3 months or something? Callin’ me Hank… </em>He pulled his ragged jacket off the back of his office chair and shrugged it on. It emanated only the faintest hint of stale booze as the detective turned to leave.</p><p>Connor’s interest was piqued. There had been an uncharacteristic lull in their precinct. Ever since Markus’s demonstration, violent crime had been going down. Human-on-human and human-on-android. As their world was changing, so were peoples’ attitudes towards androids.</p><p>“What’s the case, Hank?” Connor stood, straightening his tie. He began to follow Lt. Anderson, who was already a good ways ahead of him and in the lobby, nearly out the door.</p><p> “Missing person turned up dead,” he called backwards without turning to his partner. “The first responders seem to think it’s an overdose, want us to take a look.” Hank pushed open the station door before throwing a casual glance over his shoulder. Connor had stopped dead in his tracks.</p><p>“An overdose?” Connor probed, furrowing his brow ever so slightly. “That’s not within our jurisdiction, Lieutenant. We’re assigned to homicide.” The android remained firmly planted in the lobby of the police station as humans and androids alike bustled around him.</p><p>Hank snorted humorlessly. “You’ve been deviant for what, two months, and now you’re refusing orders on me?” He shook his head of stringy grey hair and dandruff fell like snowflakes. “Y’know, it’s not too late to send you back to CyberLife. They’re always sending me emails about running ‘extensive diagnostics’ on ya, kid.” Connor would have taken great offense at that were it not for the smirk quirking at the corner of Hank’s mouth. Connor returned the expression with his signature wink.</p><p>“I never said I wasn’t interested.”</p><p>“Well then, let’s go,” Hank replied. “The body isn’t getting any warmer.”</p><hr/><p>Fall was creeping in, evicting the warm summer to which the city of Detroit had grown accustomed. The breeze carried with it frosty undertones that chilled Connor’s synthetic skin. Ever since going deviant, he had noticed an increase in his sensory capabilities. Like music. It was no longer just sounds in mathematically-predictable chains. The notes flowed freely, and Connor experienced their ebb and flow as though he were a real human.  Air was no longer a boring mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and particulates. Connor could smell, even taste, the wafts of tantalizing cookies from the bakery across the street, bitter exhaust bellowing out of the buses… it was liberating.</p><p>“Roll up the window, will ya? It’s fuckin’ freezing out there,” Hank barked. Without a second thought, Connor obeyed and was once again deprived of the sensory wonders of his beloved city. Instead, he was trapped in the grungy, spluttering “classic car” that Hank loved so dearly. That relationship seemed, to Connor, entirely one-sided. Hank spent hundreds of dollars and thousands of dollars keeping that lemon on the road, whereas it paid him back only in various tickets issued by his coworkers in the Traffic Department.</p><p>“Is there any additional information available on the case?” Connor probed. Even before going deviant, he found awkward silences to be unbearable.</p><p>“Uh, yeah,” Hank paused to think. “Missing person’s name was, uh… what was it? Pedro something. Missing for a few weeks, I think it was. Found in an abandoned house known to attract drug addicts. The EMTs said there was no evidence of trauma or nothing like that. Just dead, in the middle of the floor.”</p><p>Theories were already swirling in Connor’s neural network. He began to generate scenarios and their probabilities. Numbers and phrases swirled around like a tornado. <em>Gang-related homicide</em>… <em>16%</em>. <em>Overdose</em>… <em>48%</em>.<em>Suicide</em>… <em>8%. </em>The android was so deeply interred in his mind palace that he didn’t notice the car had stopped. Hank had already popped open his door, stepped out, and gone to find the reporting officer at the crime scene. Connor shook his head to clear it, then followed.</p><p>“Lieutenant Anderson!” called an unfamiliar voice. According to Connor’s voice analytics program, the voice belonged to an MC500 android. Turning towards its source, the deviant saw the fellow android striding across the lawn of the house where Pedro had been found dead. The MC500 was a female, wearing a bright-yellow high-visibility medical uniform, purple nitrile gloves, and with chestnut brown hair pulled into a tight, low ponytail. Hank walked over to join the two androids, whose LEDs flashed intermittently as they communicated electronically.</p><p>“Afternoon, Lieutenant,” the MC500, whose name badge read “Reagan,” greeted. “I was just updating Connor on the situation. I apologize for calling you out for something outside your line of duty,” she paused when Hank waved off the apology with his hand. “But I thought the… odd nature of the scenario warranted an officer with more advanced investigative abilities.”</p><p>Hank raised his eyebrows and smirked quite conceitedly. His vanity was quickly vanquished when the MC500 added, “Connor has analytic capabilities that far exceed mine.” <em>Dammit</em>, he thought, embarrassed. <em>She meant him. Not me. </em></p><p>Connor gave a gentlemanly nod to the medical android. With his soft smile and puppy-dog eyes, it almost looked as though the two androids were flirting, until Connor went and opened his damned mouth. “Where is the body?”</p><p>“Reagan” gestured towards up the steps leading to the house’s dilapidated front porch. “Right through there.” Several others were moving, just beyond the door jam. Every so often, a bright flash snapped on as the other officers took photos of the body.</p><p>“Shall we, Lieutenant?” Connor offered.</p><p>“After you, <em>Officer</em>,” Hank hissed bitterly. Connor gave an apologetic shrug, but still proceeded to the scene ahead of his partner.</p><p>The few stairs up to the house did little to welcome the pair of detectives. The mildewed wood creaked and sank under their soles. The house’s exterior wasn’t much better. Connor counted dozens of bullet holes. Not a single window was completely intact; some were missing altogether. Expansive sheets of cheap plywood were plastered haphazardly across the siding like band-aids. What little siding was visible was a bleak, ugly sage green. There was no front door. The door had fallen off, or perhaps been torn off, its hinges and was now propped up against the side of the house. According to the property records Connor accessed remotely, the house had foreclosed 6 years ago. <em>Even the bank has given up on it</em>, he thought.</p><p>Just beyond the door jamb lay the body. He lay sprawled, facedown, in the measly foyer. A few other CSI officers, android and human, were mulling around, taking pictures, collecting samples, and the like. Connor paid them no attention. That was something that hadn’t changed since he went deviant: his dedication to solving crimes.</p><p>But was this really a crime? Well, that’s what Connor was going to find out.</p><p><em>Analyzing</em>…</p><p>Within seconds, he knew everything about Pedro: rather, everything the police department knew. Notably, he had an extensive criminal history.  <em>Possession with intent to distribuit… drug paraphernalia… petty larceny… </em>All his charges seemed to revolve around him dealing drugs. Therefore, the probability of an overdose rose in Connor’s list of differentials. But appearances weren’t everything. Connor knew he would get a clearer picture if he opted for more… invasive analysis.</p><p>He knelt beside the body and gently turned it face-up. Bloody sputum trickled from the nose and mouth. Even before Connor reached two fingers out to the discharge, Hank voiced his disapproval.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” he gagged. “You’re gonna do the thing again, aren’t you? Yup, you’re doing the thing… fuckin’ hell.” He turned away just as the bloody fluid touched his partner’s tongue.</p><p>Connor experienced a fleeting moment of hesitation before swallowing, allowing the sample to reach the analytic biocomponents. Sure, he was still a machine, but he was also a deviant, endowed with human principles. And near-human tastebuds.</p><p>He had to endure the taste of iron and grime for only a few seconds, until his programming revealed the toxicology and hematology reports. And they were…</p><p>“Interesting,” Connor couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud.</p><p>From behind him, Hank perked up. “You done? I’m not turning around until you’re done lapping up blood like it’s cake batter, Con.”</p><p>“That part’s over, Lieutenant.” Normally, Connor would have made a witty remark back at Hank, but he was still overcome with confusion at what his analytic biocomponents were telling him. <em>Perhaps they’ve glitched</em>… “I’ve got the results.”</p><p>“Well, what’d he OD on? Spit it out already, I haven’t had lunch yet. I was actually hoping we could go to that chicken stand that you hate so much-”</p><p>“He didn’t overdose, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted. “There are no illegal drugs or toxins in his system. The cellular and biochemical components of his blood are completely normal. Going by his arrest history, he’s only ever been charged with possession and distribution. Red ice. He was a dealer, but not a user. He didn’t die of an overdose.”</p><p>“Huh,” Hank huffed. His curiosity was piqued now, too. “Then what is it? You see any stab wounds or bullet holes?”</p><p>Connor shook his head. “No evidence of trauma. I didn’t detect any infectious organisms or genetic anomalies in the sample, either. It’s almost like he just… dropped dead.”</p><p>“Connor, humans don’t just drop dead,” Hank said. “Something happened to this guy here. Now what was it? Aneurism? Heart attack or somethin’?”</p><p>There was one more test the RK800 could perform. He booted up the program and, before he knew it, he saw the body awkwardly rise from its position on the floor. He saw the victim stumble backwards, clutching his chest, then the door frame to keep himself from collapsing. The computer-generated model took a few more uncoordinated steps backwards, out onto the porch before the program stopped. Connor ran the simulation forwards, then backwards, then forwards again. He watched the victim stumble, grabbing viciously at his chest, then fall like a dead weight onto the floor.</p><p>
  <em>Myocardial infarction. Probability &gt;95%. </em>
</p><p>“You’re right, Hank.” Connor near-whispered.</p><p>“Hallelujah!” The lieutenant crowed. “Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth. What was I right about?”</p><p>“He had a heart attack. It was rapid, almost immediate. He was dead before his body hit the floor.”</p><p>Hank grimaced. “Jesus,” he cursed, reflecting on his own mortality as well as his cholesterol intake. “Well, least we can head back to the station now. You can generate our report in the car on the way back. Let’s go, Connor.” Hank padded out the front door, nodding politely to the other CSI officers as he left. But Connor hung back for a few seconds before following. Something wasn’t adding up here. <em>A heart attack. Why? </em>With no toxins or drugs in his system, nor any anomalies he could detect, there was nothing to explain why a seemingly healthy young man just keeled over and died. Hank’s words repeated in his head. <em>Connor, humans don’t just drop dead</em>.</p><p>Shaking his head, Connor paced out after his partner. The simulated footage of the victim stumbling into the house, clawing at his heart, and falling motionless sat at the back of his mind, festering. It didn’t add up. For the first time in his life, Connor had a gut instinct. A bad feeling about this case. <em>This won’t be the last we’ll hear of this</em>.</p>
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